


roll over

by mangobilorian



Series: the danger of cuteness [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Feral is a cutie, Fox ran a kid over?, Gen, Parental Plo Koon, Wolffe Needs a Hug, snuggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:41:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25229998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangobilorian/pseuds/mangobilorian
Summary: “Kriffing hell, I can’t deal with this,” he mutters. Out of everything the Zabrak could do to cause trouble, he chooses to become a toddler. Wolffe glares at the kid, and Feral’s eyes grow wide. Then he starts to cry.Or: Wolffe learns his greatest weaknesses are Dathomirians, Plo Koon, and snuggles.
Relationships: CC-3636 | Wolffe & Wolf Pack, Feral & CC-3636 | Wolffe, Plo Koon & CC-3636 | Wolffe
Series: the danger of cuteness [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1817743
Comments: 19
Kudos: 226





	roll over

Wolffe trusts his general. He can’t count how many times General Koon saved his life. From fighting in the battlefield to advocating for Wolffe to stay by his side, the Jedi has been there for him like no one else—aside from his brothers. So Wolffe trusts Plo’s judgement even if he disagrees with it. But he has to put his foot down before he reaches his breaking point, and the addition of a Nightbrother to the Wolfpack is enough cause for Wolffe to slam his plastoid covered foot down with all the force of a Zillo Beast.

Plo found the boy by accident. Well… found was an understatement. The Republic had sent the 104th to Dathomir for more information about Maul and Savage. The place freaked him out more than it should have. Who can blame him? It’s said that Ventress was born on Dathomir, and anything to do with that assassin sends streaks of rage and fear through Wolffe. 

Thankfully, everything went well with Mother Talzin, but as they were about to depart, Wolffe got a sinking feeling. No one could find his General—which shouldn’t have been hard since the man is a  _ Kel Dor _ —and two hours later, there was still no sign of him. 

Until Plo ran towards the ship with an unconscious Zabrak in his arms, Mother Talzin screaming behind him. Wolffe understood immediately, so the Wolfpack readied the ship, and they flew off before the scary witch caught them. She screamed something along the lines of, “I will curse all of you!” But Wolffe didn’t worry about that. 

After providing food and basic medical needs to the Zabrak, Plo sat the Wolfpack down to explain the situation. Wolffe knew what to expect. Plo was going to tell them that he found the boy in  _ need _ of help, and Plo was the only one who could provide. So Plo just  _ had _ to stage a rescue for the boy and escape the witch, putting himself and his men in danger. Wolffe is only slightly miffed. The same situation occurred many times before, so what was one other rescue? But no, this Zabrak—Feral—is  _ force sensitive _ . Which is great. For Plo and no one else. 

“Wolffe, this boy will remain on the ship until he recovers. Then I will train him.” Wolffe scowls. The General leans against a wall, arms crossed. He looks too relaxed, too calm for Wolffe’s liking. 

“Sorry, sir, but that  _ boy _ is the brother of two Sith lords. If they find out we captured him, they’ll be on our asses.” Wolffe understands Plo’s undying paternal obligation to anything and everything. But Wolffe will not let Plo’s feelings get in the way of everyone’s safety. He’s lost too much to let a passing fancy harm anyone on board. 

His general sighs. “He was abused, Wolffe. His neck was crushed then healed in the most painful way possible. If Maul and Savage cared for Feral, they would have rescued him themselves. And yet, we’re the ones who did. His Force signature is confused, scared, and hurt. That boy needs help, and I will provide it. Feral  _ will _ stay on this ship.”  _ And that’s an order _ , Wolffe finishes in his mind. Plo doesn’t like to command his men in the same capacity as other generals. He treats everyone like his own sons.  _ Plo’s Bros _ , the Wolfpack calls themselves. It’s only on rare, important occasions where the hint of an order laces Plo’s voice. Unfortunately, this seems to be one such occasion. 

“Unless, of course, you are truly uncomfortable with Feral. Say the word, and I will drop Feral off at a nearby med bay.” And with that statement, Wolffe is reminded of how  _ nice _ his general is. The change from order to concern almost gives Wolffe whiplash. Plo makes his own decisions and expects Wolffe to back him up, but he also holds Wolffe’s opinion to a high regard—something that Wolffe feels he hasn’t truly earned. 

Clones were supposed to give their life to the Republic and the Jedi, not to be nurtured and cared for. Yet, a High Councillor  _ chose _ to keep Wolffe despite his disability. Wolffe begrudgingly admits that Plo’s paternal feelings have saved his and his brothers’ lives countless times. 

In an effort to make his general happy, Wolffe acquiesces. “No, it’s fine, sir. He can stay. But if he causes trouble, he’s gone.” Wolffe knows Plo is smiling at him. Despite the mask covering his face and Plo’s lack of human lips, Wolffe knows.  _ That di’kut is probably feeling smug because he got me to cave _ , the commander thinks.

Plo nods at him and heads off to tend to the injured Zabrak. Wolffe takes the time to clean his armor. In the corner, Boost and Sinker play sabacc. Comet watches idly, eyes already closing. Warthog sits in the cockpit, piloting away.  _ This _ , Wolff thinks,  _ is family. And no is going to harm them under my watch. _

An hour of calm coexistence passes. Plo had poked his head in to tell Wolffe that he was going to sleep in his anti-ox chamber. Comet and Sinker slept as well while Boost joined Wolffe in repainting his armor. They always keep gray paint and brushes on board for this exact reason. Every gray line serves as a reminder of all the men he lost, all the brothers who died—not in the midst of battle but in space, at the mercy of a superweapon and picked off by hunter droids. Gray is the mourning color for Mandalorians. And Wolffe will continue mourning long after the war ends—if it does. 

A loud  _ crash _ reverberates along the ship walls. Wolffe bolts to his feet, Boost right behind. Another  _ thump _ and Wolffe deduces that it's coming from the spare room. Where the Zabrak is. 

Wolffe signals for Boost to stay put, and he marches on. He’s down to his blacks, but he has enough sense to bring a blaster. He nudges the door open, blaster raised.  _ Plo won’t forgive me for shooting his new stray _ . And the door swings wide to find… nothing. The only thing out of place is a knocked-over chair. The room is dark, but he should be able to see Feral. 

But there’s no sign of the yellow Nightbrother. Wolffe lowers his blaster. Where could that Zabrak be? Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees something glow. He raises the blaster again-

A small whimper escapes from the glowing eyed thing, and Feral steps out from the shadows. Except it’s  _ not _ really Feral. Instead of the slim, injured Zabrak, a small version stands in his place. 

“Feral?” Wolffe sets his weapon down on a nearby desk, still eyeing the child. He slowly sets the chair upright again. The kid leans into the wall and cradles his arms to his chest. “Kriffing hell, I can’t deal with this,” he mutters. Out of everything the Zabrak could do to cause trouble, he chooses to become a  _ toddler _ . Wolffe glares at the kid, and Feral’s eyes grow wide. Then he starts to cry. 

Feral’s cries aren’t loud. It’s quiet like he’s trying to keep it all in. He chokes on his own tears, holding a hand to his mouth to muffle the sounds. His shoulders quietly shake, and he leans further into the wall. He’s a sad, pathetic sight. Kriff, what would Plo  _ think _ about the whole situation? He’d probably coo at the kid and be happy that he now has an actual child to spoil. But Plo is sleeping, and Wolffe doesn’t want to wake him. Plo barely rests enough as it is. 

Wolffe doesn’t know what to do. It’s not like he’s trained in childcare. He’s probably the commander who’s least willing to approach a child— aside from Fox who almost ran over a Senator’s kid with a speeder bike; to this day, he claims that’s it an accident but Wolffe knows better. Even the clone cadets on Kamino don’t cry often because it’s better to act tough than look weak. They were probably programmed to  _ not _ cry. Besides, he looks at his little brothers and sees the best soldiers in the galaxy instead of the children they are. 

Feral continues to muffle his tears, and Wolffe asks himself one question. What would Plo do? Many answers come to mind, and Wolffe picks one that won’t damage his reputation.

He crouches down to the Feral’s eye level. “I’m sorry, kid. Didn’t mean to make you sad. I’m Wolffe.” Feral wipes his eyes with a grubby, trembling hand. 

“Wuff?” The commander snorts. 

“Sure.” He holds a hand out, and the boy takes it. It’s wet from his tears, and Wolffe has to stop himself from cringing. He can deal with blood but a child’s tears and snot is something he doesn’t want to touch. 

“Where brother Sava?” Feral peers up at him, gripping his hand. “Wanna Sava.” Kriff. Is Feral seriously asking for Sith Lord Savage Opress right now? 

“Savage isn’t here.” That’s the wrong thing to say apparently because Feral bursts into tears. Only this time, they’re loud. “Shush, shush,” Wolffe says, trying to calm the boy down. The Wolfpack is search and rescue, so Wolffe knows some things about damage control. He pats the kid’s back, and Feral stops his tears after a while. “Umm, Savage is on a mission right now. He’s not here.” 

“Brother Sava coming back?” 

“Yeah, later.” Wolffe resists the urge to facepalm. He shouldn’t have told little Feral that Savage would arrive. Now the kid’s hopes are up, and he’ll cry when Savage doesn’t show up. Great. 

“Wuff?” He grunts at the kid. “Food?” 

“Oh you’re hungry, you little demon?” Feral’s face scrunches up at the insult but doesn’t say anything. Maybe he shouldn’t call the Zabrak a demon. The self esteem of a child  _ can _ be damaged at a young age which could lead to insecurities later in life. He thinks. Wolffe isn’t sure how nat-born kids work. 

“Sava give food. Wuff give food too?” The beady eyes of a hungry Feral stare at him. Wolffe can take the kid in a fight with one finger, but Feral looks absolutely predatory right now. Were all Zabrak kids… this scary? 

“Fine,” he says, rolling his eyes. Wolffe picks the kid up and sets him on his bed. “Don’t move or no food.” Feral nods solemnly and places his hands in his lap. What an obedient kid. Wolffe hopes he stays that way. 

The commander leaves the room, keeping the door ajar. He finds a ration bar and some water in a drawer.  _ At least Warthog didn’t eat them all _ . There’s enough to last a few rotations, but it would be better to stop and pick up more supplies soon. They had to rendezvous with Cody soon and provide some supplies to the planet they finished securing. With Kenobi, Skywalker, and Ahsoka, the planet is much more damaged than the locals would like. So of course the Council is sending Wolffe to clean up the  _ di-kut jetiise _ mess. Just as he’s about to exit the storage, Boost walks by.

“All-clear?” Wolffe debates telling Boost about baby Feral. Boost doesn’t show any contempt like Wolffe did for the Zabrak nor does he express the same happiness as Plo. 

“Yeah. Go and sleep. You need it.” Boost salutes with a grin and stalks off to his bunk. Wolffe pockets the food and heads back to Feral’s room. He finds the boy in the same spot he left him in. 

“Here you go,” Wolffe says and tosses the ration bar at Feral. His little fingers struggle to open the bar. After a few moments of Feral failing at ripping the packaging, Wolffe takes it from the boy and opens it himself. 

“Thank you,” Feral whispers before chomping down. At least the kid has manners. Wolffe watches Feral’s face scrunch up at the taste of the rations. 

“Not good, huh.” The Zabrak shakes his head.

“Dee-li-shous.” Wolffe scoffs. There’s no way the kid actually liked that stuff. He hands the water over once the kid finishes devouring the ration bar. They sit in silence, staring at each other. Wolffe doesn’t know what to do next. He’s fed the kid, but what now? Play time? He could always make the kid run a quick training circuit like all the clone cadets, but Wolffe has a hunch that nat-borns don’t jump out of bed and do a hundred pushups for fun. 

“No horns.” 

“What?” Feral points at Wolffe’s forehead.

“No horns. Weird eye.” He’d think it was an insult, but Feral seems genuinely curious. Maybe it’s the first time Feral—toddler or not—has seen someone who isn’t Dathomirian. He knew the planet is a bit more primitive and closed off, but Wolffe has the feeling that the people there don’t really get out much. 

“I’m a clone. We don’t have horns. And I lost my eye in a fight against Asajj Ventress,” he shrugs. The event was so long ago that he doesn’t feel pure terror at the mention of her name. Besides, ladies love the eye. Feral’s mouth opened a tiny bit in awe. 

“You wa-ree-or?” The kid looks amazed.

“Yeah. I’m a warrior.” Feral acts like a shiny. Every time the 104th get new troopers, they look at Wolffe with awe and fear. Even before the loss of his eye, he had a reputation for being scary. The shinies would straighten up and become quiet whenever Wolffe was around. Especially since the exploits of his Kel Dor General were nothing short of legend. Him and Plo make quite the intimidating pair. 

“Like brother Sava,” Feral grins. As if Wolffe is anything like the Sith Lord. He wonders if Feral even knew Maul existed. 

“Sure.” Wolffe expects the conversation to end there, but Feral reaches out to him with a grubby hand. 

“Sava tuck me in bed. Wuff tuck me too?” Wolffe can’t imagine the angry Sith tucking his little brother to sleep and singing lullabies. Kriff, Wolffe can’t see  _ himself _ doing that to anyone. But Feral looks so hopeful, and Wolffe wants to avoid another cry session. Damage control and all that. 

“Whatever. Lay down.” Once Feral adjusts himself on the bed, Wolffe pulls the blanket up to the kid’s chin. 

“Snuggle?” Feral asks hopefully. Oh no. By the grace of Jango’s  _ shebs _ , Wolffe prays he did not just hear the word ‘snuggle’ escape the little demon’s mouth. He can see his entire tower of reputation crumble from the weight of that word. Wolffe can endure long campaigns and stupid clankers. But snuggles?!

“Um, no. Sorry.” Feral’s face contorts, and Wolffe has enough experience to know that he’s about to cry. “I mean, roll over.” Feral immediately smiles, and Wolffe rolls his eyes. He looks so happy that Wolffe wants to frown just to balance the emotions in the room. The kid obliges, and Wolffe scoots in. The bed is made for one person—not one and a half. So Feral buries his head into Wolffe’s chest. 

It’s uncomfortable. The kid’s stubby horns dig into his ribs, and Feral is much warmer than Wolffe would like. He briefly remembers something about Zabraks having two hearts. He glances down at the kid. Where does he have the space in that little body to contain two kriffing hearts? 

Feral curls deeper into Wolffe’s chest, little huffs escaping his mouth as he finds a comfortable position. 

“Nite, Wuff.” The commander strokes the back of Feral’s head. It’s awkward, but the kid doesn’t mind. He doesn’t know if anything is real at this point. A few hours ago he wanted to strand the Nightbrother on the closest backwater planet, not cuddle next to a toddler version of him. How did Savage even deal with his younger brother? Wolffe would love to see the Sith Lord snuggle Feral then promptly shoot Savage between the eyes for killing clones.  _ Well that’s dark. Probably shouldn't think of murdering the kid’s brother while I’m snuggling him _ . 

“Good night, Feral.” Wolffe forces his eyes to close, and he wraps an arm around the kid. Feral murmurs something and drapes a skinny arm over Wolffe’s body. He stiffens. The last time someone hugged him like this was… well Wolffe doesn’t even know. Clones gave each other side hugs and pats on the back. On Kamino, cadets would sneak into each other’s pods, but that ended for Wolffe when he went to the command track. For now, Wolffe lets himself relax and allows sleep to take him. 

It’s much, much later when Wolffe wakes up to find the entirety of the Wolfpack and General Koon staring at him. With a now-adult Feral buried in his arms, snoring lightly. He’s tempted to say that it isn’t what it looks like, but he’s too damn tired. Wolffe knows Plo is grinning under his mask (at least the equivalent of a Kel Dor grin; Plo projects all the smug feelings through the Force anyway). The rest of his men look at their commander, horrified. Boost is especially scandalized. Wolffe would be too if he weren’t so sleepy. Whatever. Everyone got to rest. It’s his turn now. So Wolffe closes his eyes and drifts back into sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> ummmm... Feral is adorable and deserved better
> 
> https://mangobilorian.tumblr.com/


End file.
